


Is It Repairable?

by Little_marie



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angry Billy Hargrove, Angst, Camaros Have Feelings Too, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Neil Hargrove is Trash, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_marie/pseuds/Little_marie
Summary: Discontinued“You must’ve heard the rumours about my dad, Harrington. That he shoves me around from time to time?” Billy’s voice was ice, unforgiving. He watched Harrington’s expression fall in understanding. Still, Billy spelled it out for him. “When Maxie got home from your two-day child saving spree, Neil got a few solid thumps in before I could pull him off her. You caused that Harrington.”ORBilly's only distraction from his own pain is ruining the lives of the people around him, and Steve gets just a little too close.Occurs in the year after season 2, after Billy has graduated high school.





	1. Loose Hinge

 -November 10th, 1985-

The fingers of Billy’s free hand gripped the roof of his Camaro through the open window as he tore down the main highway towards Hawkins Middle School. Max’s hair covered her face, strategically untucked from her ear, Billy knew, to hide her red, puffy eyes from his anger. And oh boy, was he angry. He gripped the steering wheel almost as tight as he’d had Sinclair’s bike when he threw it into the neighbour’s yard. Idiot kid had left it in clear view from the front door and there’s no way Billy’s dad would miss a detail like that. Luckily for everyone involved, Neil Hargrove wouldn’t be awake until at least ten o’clock; Billy had seen the empty bottle of gin propped up next to the Lazyboy.

 

Max had tried in vain to push back against the door when Billy had stomped back through the house to find her.

 “If you don’t open the door,” Billy had reasoned in a terrifyingly level voice he’d unwittingly adopted from Neil, “I’m going to put a hole in it. And Dad’s gonna wake up.”

The moment Billy heard the door creak when Max stopped leaning against it, he opened the door himself and stepped in.

 Since the incident with the bat full of nails and the syringe full of tranquiliser, Billy had given Max a longer lead, so to speak. He pretended he couldn’t hear the screech of Max’s walkie talkie trying to connect to Sinclair every time Billy’s dad fell asleep in front of the TV, something he only did when he was too far sloshed to make the journey back to his bed. But as long as Neil, Billy and Maxine lived under the same roof, Billy could never truly stop being the bad guy. He knew Max knew that, and she had said nothing when Billy walked over to her window and forced it up, all the while staring at the squirming Sinclair standing in the middle of Max’s bedroom.

 “If I ever see your bike in front of the house again, I am going to throw it into the quarry,” Billy promised, barely restraining himself from adding that Sinclair would go over as well. He knew Max would start winging if he said anything more, and he couldn’t risk waking the bear who slept only ten feet from their conversation.

 “I just thought we could ride to school together, I wasn’t-“ Sinclair stammered out, wringing his hands together but making no move towards the window.

Billy cut him off before the kid’s voice got too hysterical “Get. Out. Now.”

Sinclair was halfway to the window before Billy finished, and he scrambled out without another word.

 Max sat on her bed staring at the wall next to the window, angry tears streaking down her red, blotchy cheeks.

 “You’ve got five minutes to get ready,” was all Billy had muttered before quietly storming out of her room. He left her door open on purpose. She needed to be reminded that the man who controlled both of their lives wasn’t someone who you could hide secrets from, no matter how many doors you shut. He could not have Max learning the hard way.

 

Their drive to school was mostly silent, aside from Max’s sniffles and indiscriminate drum beats filtering through the Camaro’s speakers so quietly they could’ve come from another car. Billy didn’t want to give Max anything to distract her from what just happened. He wanted her to stew in it; the embarrassment, the fear. There could not be a repeat.

 When he pulled up outside the main office, Max hesitated to get out of the car.

 “What?” Billy demanded, staring straight ahead at a bunch of kids throwing hoops from a retaining wall next to the basketball court.

 “I forgot my board,” Max responded, her voice scratching over the tightness of her throat in a way that Billy had heard many times before. She hated him knowing she was upset.

 “Fuck, Max,” Billy sighed, rubbing his face in irritation. Today was a Friday, and the group of muppets Max hung out with spent every Friday after school at the arcade. It was too far to get to by foot, and she knew she couldn’t risk Neil seeing her ride on the back of one of their bikes. Max needed Billy to drive her, and he was going to make her earn it after this morning.

 “Fine, I’ll get you at three. You’d better not be late, not even by a minute, you hear?” Billy knew that school ended at quarter past and that Max would have to figure out how to convince her teacher to let her go fifteen minutes early with no permission note from her parents. Max let the car door slam for the billionth time.

 “Stupid bitch,” Billy murmured as he peeled out of the shithole school and took a right back onto the main road. He fished his sunnies out of the glovebox, along with a pack of smokes and a lighter. His shift at the Melgen’s Farm Supply didn’t start until half past ten; he had over an hour to kill. Going back home wasn’t an option Billy considered, he didn’t spend any more time than necessary there when Neil was home. He eventually decided to take his car to the car wash, the manual ‘do it yourself’ variety of course. He wasn’t going to risk paint damage with the automatic spinning monsters of fuck-up-your-car.

 

~-~

 

Billy was just finishing soaping up his headlights when he heard another car drive in behind his. Internally cursing the fact there was only one manual washing bay, he snuck a look at it while he hung the soap brush back on its hook. He paused, blood rushing to his head and prickling at the back of his neck, then he snatched up the pressure washer and started spraying away at the tires, seething. There was only one arsewipe in Hawkins rich enough to own an ‘81 Beemer who was also thoughtless enough to wash it with the same brush deadbeats used to wipe shit stains off the sides of their vans. Steve fucking Harrington.

 In an ideal world, Billy would have been able to finish washing his car in peace while Steve stayed in his, both pretending they didn’t notice the other. But Steve apparently didn’t live in an ideal world, and wouldn’t let Billy either, because he killed the engine almost immediately and got out of his car.

 “Hey, Hargrove?” Steve called out, crushing Billy dreams for a peaceful remainder of his Friday. “You got any change for the machine, man? I’ve only got notes.”

 Billy turned slightly to stare at him, continuing to spray the passenger door, and flipped Harrington off in one slightly theatrical motion. Then he went back to pretending Harrington wasn’t there. Unfortunately, due to their last meeting with Steve being at least physically present for the near deconstruction of his masculinity by the lovely Maxine, Billy was too put out to use any verbal variations of ‘fuck off’. This kind of meeting needed mental preparation of a kind that Billy had not done.

 “Oh, what? Dude, c’mon,” Steve bumbled about, probably trying to figure out what to say next, Billy thought. “Alright, whatever, I’ve got enough change. I just wanted to talk, you know?”

 “Hmm, in that case then!” Billy gave Harrington a wide-eyed, sarcastic smile that pulled uncomfortably at his chapped lips. Going back to ignoring him for hopefully the final time, he pulled on the hose and started rinsing off the other side of his Camaro. Blood started pounding in his ears as he listened to Harrington scuff his sneakers against the concrete, walking up to the trunk of his Camaro to lean on it. _Oh, hell no._

 “You are asking,” Billy turned and began leisurely walking up to Harrington, feigning confusion, “to have the lights knocked out of you, right? Is that what you want, Harrington? Cos I can’t seem to think of another reason why you’d want to talk to me after what you did to Max last year.”

 By this point, Billy was face to face with Harrington, so close that Billy was sure Harrington could feel the waves of rage that he felt rippling across his skin.

 “What I did… to Max?” Harrington shook his head slightly, puzzled. “I saved Max that night, I saved all of them.”

 For a moment, Billy was thrown off guard, he had literally no idea what Harrington could be referring to. Then it hit him.

 “You fucker. You think you saved her from me? Are you actually kidding me, Harrington?” Billy’s words came out like a laugh, but he was anything but amused. He started shaking, he didn’t think he’d been this angry in at least a year. “Is that what you do? You go ‘round to the arcade or the cinema or wherever those little twerps hang out and you convince yourself that you’re bringing them back to your house to save them from their step-brothers?”

 “What, no! It was… something else, not you. And it’s not like that, I’m like their… babysitter?” Harrington was finally backing down. He looked mortified. _Good._

 “Yeah? Well tell that to the CPS when I call them about a dude in Indiana who’s running around with a group of kids five years younger than him, telling everyone he’s ‘saving’ them for ‘something’. You’re sick, Harrington. I don’t want you anywhere near me or Maxine.”

 Billy finally shoved the other boy away and was almost in his car when he heard Harrington squeak out “What happened to Max? What do you think I did?”

 Billy paused, then looked at Harrington through his rear-view mirror. He knew by Harrington’s anxious tone that what Billy had to say would cut through him like a hot knife.

 “You must’ve heard the rumours about my dad, Harrington. That he shoves me around from time to time?” Billy’s voice was ice, unforgiving. He watched Harrington’s expression fall in understanding. Still, Billy spelled it out for him. “When Maxie got home from your two-day child saving spree, Neil got a few solid thumps in before I could pull him off her. You caused that Harrington.”

 Billy pulled out of the wash bay feeling the kind of calm you only get from stepping on a wanker’s self-righteousness. He took a glance back at the Beemer just before crossing over the road and saw with satisfaction that King Steve was still staring at the place Billy’s mirror would have been, hands limp at his sides. _Serves that fucker right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Australian so there will be 'u's in "colour" or "rumour". Sorry my lovely Americans. Also, I stayed up way too late last night reading Billy/Steve fics and i got the bug (and also a literal cold rip me). I'm starting this because I've spent the day in bed with nothing else to do, but I'm not sure how reliable I'm going to be with updates, as I start 2nd year Uni in a few days. Read at your own risk. A realistically angry and emotionally fucked Billy is the goal of this fic, so Steve might seem a bit weak in terms of characterisation (but I'll try not to, promise xxx).
> 
> ALSO billy keeps autocorrecting to bully lol that's apt.


	2. Road Rash

-December 20th, 1985-

 

Half an hour after walking into Alicia Loughery’s, Billy was finally starting to feel his fifth can. Sweaty bodies packed into the main room like sardines, swaying around and pulling unfortunate ‘come on to me’ faces at whoever happened to look their way. Despite his reputation, Billy really did try to avoid making eye contact.

He’d shrugged off his friends after his third drink, sick of Carol bitching about anyone she could lay her eyes on and Tommy chanting at him to chug every beer he could reach. That kid had been unbelievably annoying since coming home for the holidays the previous Monday, having spent half a year at some tech school down south. Carol, on the other hand, was the same as always. She’d gotten herself a job sweeping up hair and god knows what else at Halle’s Lock, the hair salon on the main street. Billy only knew because she’d been working when Billy dropped Max off last month. He couldn’t get Carol to shut up the entire time Max’s hair was being tugged around and hacked into by some grouchy, probably divorced, woman. He now knew more about the benefits of cutting wet hair versus dry hair than he ever wanted or needed to.

“Where’s Alicia, doll face?” he asked a mostly sober looking girl who had propped herself up against a cupboard door to watch the teenage shit fest in front of her. Just as he’d hoped, she pointed to the kitchen without hesitation.

“Wait… Billy, right? Hargrove?” she slurred, barely managing to focus on his face. _Okay, maybe a bit further along than I thought._

“What’s it to you?” He bit back, already done with this conversation. He was itching to talk to Alicia.

“Someone told me,” she took a breath and swayed as if trying to wake up her brain, “someone told me that you beat up the zombie kid last week. Issat true? Hmm? Cos I think, I think that you should probably be picking on someone your own size-“ she’d swayed too far to the left and slid down the door she’d been leaning on with an ‘oof’. Billy didn’t offer to help her up. Who in the hell was the zombie kid? He hadn’t really messed someone up since Harrington last winter, and no one could say that that dipshit was too small for him to be ‘picking on’. _Not my_ _problem._

Billy was drawn out of the dimly lit mad house and into a florescent, housewife’s wet dream like a moth to his dad’s bug zapper. Strangely enough, the person he was trying to find looked very much like a moth that night. She had her back to him, fiddling with something on a counter top and wearing a huge leather jacket that covered the rest of her clothing so that only her bare legs were sticking out the bottom. She was bopping along to the song echoing through the door, tapping her heel against the tiles to the beat.

“Jee-sus Billy!” she yelled over the music without turning around. “Did you poor an entire bottle of fuckin’ Stetson on your chest before getting up here?”

“You know I don’t fuck with that cow shit Al, I ain’t wearing Stetson,” he replied, walking up behind her to put his hands on where he thought her hips might be under the shapeless mass of leather. She leaned back into him and he wrapped his arms around her further until she was trapped between him and the counter. He’d never admit it, but Billy felt sick with longing, sadness and anger. Always anger. He was angry at Alicia for coming into his life and making him feel and believe things he’d never thought were possible for him. On top of that, crushing it into an almost insignificant dust, was the anger he felt at himself. Billy had fucked up. Fucked up bad, and there was nothing he could do to get things back to the way they were.

He felt Alicia’s whole body move as she breathed in, rolling her head back so her nose was right under his chin.

“You gotta tell me what you use, hun,” she joked softly, “I have to buy it for my next boyfriend”.

Billy let out a short chuckle in response, squeezing her to him a little tighter.

“You’re such a bitch, you know that? That poor man, forever living in the shadow of my greatness,” he let his lips graze the top of her head as he continued to speak, “and speaking of greatness, why the fuck are you wearing such a massive jacket?”

Alicia giggled and begun to wiggle herself around to face him. Billy stepped back to let her then lifted her onto the counter in one practiced move. He looked over her outfit under the unzipped jacket in that way he knew she loved, noticing every bit of fabric and jewellery that she’d expertly put together. This time, however, instead of lifting his gaze to look at her with his signature ‘fuck me’ eyes, Billy’s face softened. He lifted his hand to run it through Alicia’s fluffy blonde hair and she leaned into it, not batting him away like she did when she was sober. Al spent more time in front of the mirror perfecting her hair with sprays and mousses than any other girl he'd known.

“I found the jacket,” she responded coyly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Billy felt his heart drop. _It’s not hers._

“Found it, yeah?” Billy nodded mockingly, feeling his entire being shift from tender to bristling. He couldn’t keep the jealousy out of his voice, regardless of whether it was warranted. “Who’s is it Alicia?”

Her face hardened, and Billy watched the love he’d so carefully worked for over the past few months slip from her eyes, again. This wasn’t going to plan at all.

“Jesus FUCK Billy, why did you even come here?” she spat, shoving his hands away and scooting herself off the counter. “YOU are the one who broke up with ME, you dick! You don’t get to be jealous anymore!” She looked up at him with disbelief and irritation colouring every feature of her expression.

Billy locked his jaw and planted his feet. Took one breath, glaring.

Alicia moved aside for him when he reached behind her, more from confusion than courtesy. He picked up the joint he’d seen her rolling when he’d walked in and stuck it between his lips. Fishing through his pockets for a lighter, he raised a taunting eyebrow at her. “I’m not jealous, baby. Just concerned what people are gonna think,” Billy replied, talking around the stick in his mouth with false sincerity “that you're taking over as Hawkins’ easiest fuck.”

Billy turned and walked out of the kitchen before he could see the damage he’d caused. The only indication that he felt any remorse was in his flinch when her broken voice screamed at him to “get the fuck out”.

Lighting up in the main room, Billy glanced back over at the chick from before. She had another girl, one he recognised from Hawkins High, sitting next to her against the wall with an arm around her shoulders. He was pulled away by some stupid kid in a stupid hat yelling in his ear about a keg stand battle starting up outside. He let himself be guided out while pulling lungfuls of smoke from his stolen joint, preparing himself to get well and truly fucked up. By the time he got outside Billy was grinning in anticipation, and when he saw his competition he could only laugh. _King Steve. Fuckin’ A._

 

~*~

 

Lungs constricted and burning, Billy felt himself starting to choke on the beer that he was forcing down, or up, his throat. Before he could gasp and breathe the piss-weak booze into his airways, he swung his legs down and sprayed the rest of the beer out of his mouth. He could hear people cheering and chanting around him, but they weren't saying his name.

“Ste-eve! Ste-eve!” They whooped, and Billy turned to watch Harrington practically fall off his keg and kick someone in the stomach in the process. Tommy grabbed his hand as he stumbled and spluttered, wrenching it up to the cheers of the crowd as if Harrington had just won a wrestling competition.

“King Steve is baaack!” Tommy hollered, and then to Billy “You’ve lost it, man!”

Billy thought he would probably care if he wasn’t so numb. If he didn’t have other things to worry about. There was a moment where he looked at the people around him, the kegs, the yard and himself, as if he were floating above it all. He saw Harrington’s face in the center of it all, gazing around with a passivity Billy thought he could relate to. When he came back to earth, the world was duller, the edges softer and less noisy. He had no goals to fulfill and no one he needed to find or watch or protect. He felt freer than he had in months.

The crowd broke up a bit, but Billy didn’t go back inside. He dragged himself over to sit on the back porch and pulled out a cigarette. Not wanting to think, or to succumb to any kind of drunken misery he knew he was prone to, he decided to study the people around him.

_Tommy: Lonely as fuck. Everyone's got new friends and he's only got Carol.  
_

_Jesse: Nostalgic. High school is and will forever be the best fucking thing that’s ever happened in his life._

_Craig: Blue balls. None of the girls in Hawkins will go anywhere near his dick after he knocked up that blondie._

_Lisa: Bored as hell. Finally knows how much of a shithole Hawkins is after she escaped for a bit._

“Oi, it’s not that bad,” Billy heard a muffled voice grumble from behind him. There was a kid sprawled out longways on an outdoor couch with his face mashed into a pillow. Billy realised he’d been talking aloud but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Only makes you sound like more of a hick, sorry man,” He replied. Without really thinking about it, Billy got up and pulled the pillow away from the guy’s face. Of course, it was Harrington, it was that kind of night. If Billy was being honest with himself, he’d known it was him from his voice, and then from the mess of hair he’d seen splayed out from under the sides of the pillow. He didn’t really know why he had to confirm it, to see his face.

Billy balanced the pillow back on Harrington’s nose and forehead, then a wave of dizziness made him fall back a little. He ended up sitting on the other end of the couch between Harrington’s stretched out legs and the backrest. Billy’s thighs were squashing Harrington’s shins. He waited for him to complain or pull his legs away, but he didn’t move. Once again, Billy couldn’t bring himself to care. He let his head fall back against the house and covered his eyes with his hands.

“I beat you. The keg stand. That was me,” Harrington said, pillow still on his face. Billy took his hands away from his face. Harrington had his hands linked over his stomach and Billy watched them rise and fall as he breathed.

“I know it was you,” said Billy.

“You mad?” Steve asked, his hands rising and falling, rising and falling.

“Nah. Beginner’s luck,” Billy reasoned.

“I’m no beginner, Hargrove. I’m King Steeeve,” he mocked, imitating Tommy’s moronic cheers.

Billy actually laughed at this, it was pretty damn accurate.

“What an ass hat,” muttered Billy. He vaguely realised that he was breathing in time with Harrington.

“Who?”

“Tommy. Or you. Both of you.” Billy’s world had condensed, all he could see or think about was what was happening right in front of him.

There was a short pause. Billy could almost hear Harrington thinking.

“You’re the ass hat, man,” Harrington finally replied. He sounded casual but his hands became still on his stomach.

Billy’s ears rang in the silence that spanned a few moments too long.

“At least I’m not bullshit.” Billy’s words cut the stillness and with it, he assumed, the strange kind of cease-fire they’d mutually agreed upon. He waited, somewhat anxiously, for a response. He knew he’d taken it too far.

Harrington unlinked his hands and pulled the pillow off his face, letting it fall onto the porch. Billy suddenly became very aware of his thighs sitting across Harrington’s legs. He desperately wanted to move them but didn’t know how he could without making his discomfort apparent. So he sat there, and he and Harrington stared at each other.

Eventually, Harrington spoke. “Is Max okay?”

_God, not this again_

“You should know, you’re the one hanging out with her all the time,” Billy snapped. He wished Harrington would’ve just insulted him back or gotten angry or something. Talking about his family made him uneasy.

“C’mon, you know what I mean. Is she okay or not?” Harrington was looking up at Billy with his big, serious eyes that reflected the string lights Alicia had wrapped up around a beam.

Billy knew exactly what he meant. Was Max safe from Neil, or was she getting the lights knocked out of her whenever she got home late or slammed a door. _Of course she’s safe. She’s Maxine._

“That little shit’s fine, man. Relax.”

Silence fell between them again, interrupted only by the faint music and chatter that managed to filter out from the house. Billy began to lift himself off the couch. He could feel Harrington watching him as he tried not to drag his ass over the other kid’s legs on his way up. He wished Harrington would put the pillow back over his face.

He leaned up against the house once he was standing, needing a moment for his brain recalibrate. The alcohol and whatever the hell was in that joint had been slowly working away at his head over the past few minutes and it was starting to catch up with him. He tried to close his eyes but he almost fell over. Instead, he looked back out at the rest of the people in the yard, away from Harrington.

“Billy, please-“ Harrington said, almost at a whisper. “Please just tell me she’s safe. I need to believe it.”

Harrington was desperate, and his vulnerability niggled that part of Billy’s mind that told him exactly how to step on his heart. How to keep ripping away at the hole he had punctured the other day at the car wash, to keep ripping and pulling until it tore completely. _You make it so easy, Harrington._

Billy turned to look at him, to look into his eyes and got ready to watch the ounce of hope they held dissolve at Billy’s next words. And then Harrington reached up and grabbed onto Billy’s hand. His mind blanked.

“I lied, alright!” He couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. His heart was beating in his throat, he was so shocked at himself. So was Harrington, his hand fell away from Billy’s and his jaw dropped open just like it had when Billy first told him the lie.

“What?” Harrington whispered, confused, relieved, hurt, drunk. Billy had to look away.

“It was just a joke, man. Don’t get so worked up,” Billy answered, pushing himself off the house. For the second time that night, Billy walked away before he could see a reaction. Harrington didn’t yell at him to get out, but if he did, it would have seemed as if Billy listened.

 

He was sitting in his Camaro, door shut and engine running before his heart beat started to drop back to a normal speed. He knew he shouldn’t drive, but he also knew that if he didn't sleep this off by the morning he would have one hell of a hangover. Neil always knew when Billy had a hangover, and if he found out Billy had snuck out… he didn’t want to think about that. He slammed the Camaro into reverse and heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against the curb.

“FUCK” Billy all but screamed, grabbing the sides of his head with his fingers scrunched painfully into his hair. He tried to breathe. He screwed his eyes shut and imagined Harrington's hands rising and falling, and he breathed in time.  _I'm such a goddamn idiot._ He put his car into drive and painstakingly dragged his fender forward off the raised concrete. The sound was like knifes stabbing into his spine.

When the Camaro was free, Billy couldn’t bring himself to go look at the damage. He felt tears welling up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing.

He drove home carefully and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he woke up with nausea and a migraine anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to wait a while for this one to come naturally, but I wanted to publish it before study ramps up. If there are any obvious discontinuities between this and the previous chapter (or the show) that you notice, don't be afraid to point them out! Let me know what you think of this chapter too. I loved getting comments and kudos on the last chapter, this is my first ao3 work and I had no idea if people would even see it so it was a big surprise. Thank you everyone who left them! <3


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